Penumbra
by readerofasaph
Summary: Aomine and Kuroko wake up in each other's bodies. It's not exactly all their dreams come true.


Kuroko wakes up lying facedown, his nose pressed against the smooth surface of what, when he raises his head, turns out to be a glossy centrefold of Horikita Mai in a bikini top and boyshorts. A damp spot of drool covers Horikita-san's slim calves.

It is in this marred photograph of the gravure model, wet saliva crinkling the magazine page all the way from her demurely bent knees to the flawless skin of her ankles, that impresses upon Kuroko the deep and certain realisation that his world has changed entirely.

He sits up in bed. Fortunately there is no evidence of salivation on the pillowcases, nor on the bedsheets.

The pillows are not Kuroko's own pillows and the bed is not his bed. The bedroom in which he has woken up is not his own bedroom at all. Rather than being surprised at these facts, Kuroko is instead filled with a steady calm. He is barely astonished when he holds out his hands in front of him and sees brown wiry forearms, a marked change from the pale skin and slight musculature he is better-acquainted with.

He looks around the unfamiliar bedroom. A wardrobe with slatted wooden doors sits in a corner near the window. Kuroko opens it and stares at the full-length mirror inside. Aomine-kun's face stares back at him.

It is strange to see Aomine-kun's eyes gazing out in such a steady and contained manner. It is the expression in Aomine-kun's – in Kuroko's own, rather – eyes that jolts Kuroko back to the fantastical nature of his situation.

He has woken up in Aomine-kun's body. He knows this to be true, even as he acknowledges the impossibility of the situation. He attempts to consider the implications of this event, but finds them too momentous to ponder adequately.

He realises he is very hungry, no doubt a side-effect of his new body. (Like Kagami-kun, Aomine-kun is nearly always hungry.)

Footsteps sound on the landing outside. There is a knock on the bedroom door before it opens, and a slender woman he recognises as Aomine-kun's mother peers in. "Daiki, when are you going to come down for breakfast?"

#

By the time he arrives at the main gates of Touou Gakuen, Kuroko has mastered the rudiments of being Aomine-kun. (It is helpful that for nearly a year of middle school he spent every lunchtime and recess with Aomine-kun, to say nothing of daily basketball sessions before, after, and sometimes during school.)

Naturally some aspects of being Aomine-kun are by necessity modified. The first bell has just rung when Aomine-kun's phone vibrates and the first email from Momoi-san arrives. _Dai-chan, why aren't you at school?_

Kuroko blinks at the message owlishly for a moment before realising that Momoi-san is no doubt on the school rooftop, expecting to find Aomine-kun sprawled bonelessly in the morning sun.

_I'm already in class_, he thumb-types back, as the teacher enters the classroom.

There is complete phone silence from Momoi-san for the remainder of first period; Kuroko presumes she is being the conscientious student that she is and paying attention in class. Only when history class is finishing does Kuroko receive the second message:

_Dai-chan, have you got a fever?_

It is at that point that Kuroko realises that there are things he is unwilling to compromise on, even if it is to hide the fact that his consciousness has been transplanted into Aomine-kun's body. For starters, he prefers going to class to skipping it and no doubt Aomine-kun's attendance record could use a minor boost.

Secondly, when the teacher calls on him in the middle of Japanese Literature to explain the historical context of _Bocchan_, Kuroko is unwilling to pretend he does not know the answer. Never mind that by the time he's done speaking there are several mouths gaping wide as their accompanying eyes stare at him and at least one student looks as if she's about to faint in shock.

Okay, so in fact he's not very good at behaving as if he's Aomine-kun.

Happily, third period is chemistry, a subject where Kuroko's natural boredom happens to match Aomine-kun's perfectly. For the first time in his life Kuroko faces the perils of being a 192 centimetre-tall, 85 kilogram-heavy, bright, shining light, as he summarily receives a piece of blue chalk aimed squarely at his forehead the moment he begins to nod off.

After more than one year of having Kagami-kun act as his hapless decoy so that Kuroko can sleep through redox reactions, it's disconcerting to find himself the target of so much teacherly anger. He resolves to bully Kagami-kun a little less in the future. A little.

Lunchtime arrives, finally, and brings with it Momoi-san at the door to the classroom, looking frantic. Kuroko opens his mouth to greet her, then remembers that the correct Aomine response is to look indifferent and wander out the corridor while Momoi pulls a face and walks alongside him.

"Do you need to go to the infirmary, Dai-chan?" she asks, a frown crinkling her pretty forehead. (For some reason Kuroko finds Momoi prettier from within Aomine's body than from within his own, although he's not sure whether that is because the increased height difference gives him a different view of Momoi's delicate features or because Aomine's attraction to busty females is so deep-seated that it is embedded in his body itself.)

"I'm fine," says Kuroko shortly, after pausing to remind himself to use Aomine-kun's speech patterns.

"Did you fight with Tetsu-kun?"

Kuroko thinks back to the last few memories he recalls prior to waking up on top of the special Horikita Mai edition of _Sabra_ Magazine. "No," he says. Aomine and Kuroko never have _fights_, not exactly.

"Then why did you skip practice this morning?"

Kuroko halts in the middle of the hallway. Basketball practice. At Touou Gakuen. How could he have forgotten? Presumably it was the distraction of trying to eat breakfast with an Aomine-sized stomach; it took seven pieces of toast before Kuroko felt remotely satiated this morning.

"You know you're playing against Kagami-kun next week."

"Of course I know," says Kuroko. (Aomine would have added a "Shaddup, Satsuki," to that sentence, but Momoi-san does not deserve Kuroko's rudeness even in the name of verisimilitude.)

Momoi looks up at him with puzzled eyes. Students mill past and around them, some of the boys casting glances at Momoi as they pass. Someone comes to a halt next to Kuroko. It's Sakurai Ryou, carrying a cloth bag in one hand and looking bored.

"Where are we sitting for lunch?" he asks. " Momoi-san, I brought you cherries."

"...Ryou," Kuroko says, after struggling to recall how Aomine addresses Sakurai-kun.

Momoi still appears puzzled, but Sakurai just turns and walks ahead of them. "You owe me 10 000 yen in lunch money," he say, over his shoulder.

"Is making me bentos a business deal now?" asks Kuroko.

"Don't try to pretend you don't remember, you agreed to this months ago," Sakurai's tone and demeanour are quite different from what Kuroko recalls from previous matches against Touou. Not surprising. A year of exposure to Aomine-kun is enough to neutralise anyone's apologetic tendencies.

They eat lunch on the rooftop. Sakurai hands Kuroko a plastic box filled with potato salad, fried rice, and kamaboko. Momoi clicks open her own box and takes out a ham sandwich. It looks surprisingly edible. It's strange that Momoi has stopped making bentos for Aomine. (At Teikou she made hundreds of them: some black and desiccated, some pink and raw, filled with hardened rice, unpeeled potatoes, cold congealed bechamel sauce.)

"Wakamatsu-sempai was mad," says Sakurai, sitting on the floor and leaning backwards against the railing. "He might punch you if he sees you."

Kuroko ignores him in favour of eating as quickly as possible. It's what Aomine would do. He doesn't quite have Aomine's well-honed ability to shovel maximal quantities of food into his mouth, though, and an overenthusiastic spoonful of rice and diced carrots and onion results in him choking.

"Are you all right?" Sakurai asks, after a while.

"I just need something to drink." Kuroko reaches for his water bottle.

"No, I mean... you never skip practice. Wakamatsu-sempai was sure you were just slacking off, but," Sakurai shrugs.

Kuroko never thought he'd hear the conjunction of 'Aomine-kun' and 'never skips practice.' How life has changed.

Aomine-kun's cellphone vibrates. Kuroko pulls it out of his pocket. It's a message from his own (Kuroko's) phone: _WTH Tetsu?!_

Well, that wasn't unexpected. Even if Kuroko is slightly dismayed by the damage Aomine-kun is no doubt doing to Kuroko's reputation at this very moment.

_Will contact you after school_, he replies, before flipping the phone shut.

Aomine-kun's phone vibrates again, seconds later but he ignores it.

#

Wakamatsu Kousuke is not only angry, he is angrier than any team captain has ever been at Kuroko in his entire basketball career. Homemade bentos aside, there have been no noticeable life advantages to being Aomine-kun so far.

Kuroko has barely stepped onto the court when Wakamatsu walks up to him.

"What the hell was that this morning," he snarls, standing right in Kuroko's face. Kuroko can feel the heat of his breath.

"I forgot practice was on," Kuroko says, because it is true, and takes a step back.

"Bullshit," says Wakamatsu.

"I'm sorry," Kuroko adds.

The expression in Wakamatsu's eyes appears to be two-parts apoplectic anger, one-part sheer shock at hearing the unlikely apology coming from 'Aomine'. He flexes his arms, clenches his fists. Finally he snaps out, "Get warmed up." Kuroko takes his place with the other regulars with some relief.

They've done five shuttle runs when it truly hits Kuroko that he is now in Aomine's body.

He's the first to make it from one end of the court to another, every single lap. When they finish, Wakamatsu barks at him to do another two; Kuroko complies, and finds that he's barely breathing hard as he dashes across the court.

After twenty minutes of basic training there's a water break. Normally by this point he'd be panting, feeling his heart beat wildly inside his chest. Instead, all he feels is endorphins, cool air in his lungs, the anticipation of muscles warmed up and ready to play ball.

He'd forgotten – or rather he'd never known – the advantages of being Aomine.

#

"You trained hard today," Harasawa-sensei says, two hours later, as Kuroko comes out of the change rooms.

"I always train hard," says Kuroko, the words coming out before he can think of something more Aomine-like to say.

"You do." Harasawa keeps his arms folded across his chest, eyes pensive. "Something seems different today. Is it because we're playing against Seirin next week?"

Kuroko knows exactly how Aomine-kun would respond: say something dismissive, perhaps, but with a dark and eager intensity belying his words. Kuroko's emotions run no less deep than Aomine's, but there has always been a vast difference in the way they express their feelings: on the court, off the court.

"I am looking forward to the match," Kuroko replies.

Harasawa looks at him quizzically, but finally nods. "See you tomorrow morning," he says, turning and walking away. No questions asked about Aomine's non-attendance at practice. It is entirely possible that every high school basketball coach in Japan has learned, whether firsthand or by hearsay, the futility of questioning Aomine about showing up to practice.

Kuroko exits Touou's main gymnasium and finally checks Aomine-kun's phone. There are four missed calls and three unread messages:

The first one from lunchtime: _Oi, answer me!_

The second one from about 2pm: _Tetsuya you bastard, what's going on?_

Finally, the most recent: _Your coach is a demoness._

Kuroko calls Aomine, who picks up immediately.

"Tetsu," comes Kuroko's own voice over the phone. "Is that you in my body, that's you, right?"

Kuroko pauses only slightly to absorb the surreality of the situation. "Yes, Aomine-kun, it's me. We need to talk."

"You don't _say_." Aomine still sounds like himself even when speaking in Kuroko's voice. He's definitely doing a very poor job of pretending to be Kuroko.

#

They meet at Maji Burger. Aomine orders three teriyaki burgers and two packets of French fries.

"You won't be able to eat that much," says Kuroko, because he knows the size of his own stomach well.

"That's half of what I usually eat." says Aomine dismissively, chomping into the first bun. Sure enough, in a few minutes he's looking queasy and pushes his tray away.

"Told you so."

"Yeah, yeah. You know how weird it is seeing myself sip a vanilla milkshake?" Aomine pulls a face.

"I'll eat the rest of your burgers," replies Kuroko, picking up a packet of French fries and putting it on his own tray. He enjoys the way Aomine-kun's (Kuroko's own) eyes narrow in annoyance.

Aomine recovers quickly though. "So have you done it yet?" he asks.

Kuroko pauses mid-sip and swallows down a cold mouthful of milkshake. "Done what?" he asks suspiciously.

Aomine shrugs. "Check out my body, have a look at the goods. You could even have jerked off with it."

"I have not."

"First thing I did this morning after I looked in the mirror was-"

"Aomine-kun, please _shut up_."

"Urgh, you're such a killjoy." Aomine picks up a French fry, though this time he picks it up and places it in his mouth with more caution and respect for the act of eating than he was displaying earlier. "I thought you'd be _interested_ in what I look like naked."

Kuroko checks to see whetether anyone is sitting within earshot of their booth. No one is. He feels grateful for small mercies.

"Does anyone at home or school suspect that I am not myself?" he asks.

"People wouldn't normally _suspect_ this sort of thing had happened, right?" Aomine yawns and leans back in his seat. Underneath the table, his legs stretch out and brush against the fabric of Kuroko's trousers. "Anyway you're invisible as ever. I skipped three classes and nobody even noticed I wasn't there."

"Not even Kagami-kun?"

"Bakagami doesn't count. No way he'd be able to figure out the truth."

"What about basketball?" Kuroko asks.

"What about basketball?"

"If you can't replicate my play style at practice, sooner or later someone is going to notice, whether it's Coach or Kagami-kun."

"About that, um." Aomine presses his lips together before looking at Kuroko. "Hey, doesn't that apply to you too? Have you figured out how to play like me?"

"No," says Kuroko. Even in the right body, and even after having watched Aomine play basketball all these years, all these days and months and seasons, Aomine's basketball is near-impossible to replicate. "I will pretend to have a head cold for the next week. If we're fortunate, that will keep Momoi-san's suspicions lulled."

"We have a _match_ next week," Aomine points out.

"Maybe we'll wake up in the right bodies tomorrow morning," Kuroko says, in an attempt to be optimistic.

#

Optimism does not prevail. He is still in Aomine-kun's body when he wakes up the next day. This time he remembers to go to morning practice.

He arrives on time and Wakamatsu gives him a curt nod. They begin with laps, then callisthenics, jumping jacks, stretches. There's more space today to notice the ease of jumping up, crouching down, stepping from side to side. They practice dribbling and the ball feels easier against his fingers: less oversized, more controllable.

Training has never felt like this, not even at its best. Transiently the thought slips in: if basketball always felt this natural, this right, he would never have stopped coming to practice, no matter the reason.

He halts the thought and directs his focus to the ball in front of him as he dribbles. He is not Aomine, and there is no comparison.

Layup drills, then a water break. Kuroko finds himself standing next to Wakamatsu, who doesn't appear to be appeased by Kuroko's attendance this morning.

"Don't you dare slack off," he snaps at Kuroko.

"I'm not slacking off," says Kuroko. He is training as diligently as he can. He has only been in Aomine's body for a day however, and that is nothing against a lifetime of possessing this strength, these limbs, this speed, these movements.

In four years of knowing Aomine, Kuroko has never come close to seeing the limits of Aomine's basketball.

He doubts even Aomine knows the limits of Aomine's own basketball.

But never mind Aomine's limits. Kuroko needs to learn Aomine's everyday style: formless, unpredictable, perfect.

It's one thing to know what Aomine's shots look like, it's another thing to replicate them. Even from within Aomine's body.

He ends up on the courts alone, after the rest of the team have disappeared into the showers, staring across the gymnasium.

He's moving almost before the idea occurs to him, dribbling the ball, moving past the centreline, onto the free throw lane, moving as he never can when he's in his own body.

He palms the ball, barely registering how _easy_ it all is when it's Aomine's hand doing it, takes one step, another step – and leaps, arm outstretched.

It's all over in bare moments: he goes up, higher than he's ever been, and he reaches forward and he dunks. The ball bounces against the rim, then falls through the hoop.

Kuroko lands back on the floor, sees the ball come down with him.

Basketball has never felt like this.

#

Kuroko makes plans to practice more: on the streets, by himself, with Aomine-kun. There is a near-endless list of things Kuroko has never been able to perform that seem possible now: the reverse dunk, the second part of an alley-oop.

Aomine can teach him. Aomine will complain, but he is no less skilled a teacher for all his whinging. It's not as if Kuroko has nothing to teach Aomine in turn. Misdirection is not an art that can be learned in a day or a week.

His plans are cut short when Momoi runs up to him at afternoon practice, looking frantic.

"Tetsu-kun's been injured," she says, coming to a halt on the paint, indifferent to the fact that she's just completely disrupted the team's fast break drill. "I'm going over to his house."

_House_ and not _hospital_, so the situation can't be that serious. "I'll join you after practice," Kuroko says.

She presses her lips together. To his surprise she is on the verge of tears. Kuroko never doubted the fact that Momoi cares for him – Momoi-san is nothing if not sincere – but equally he has never questioned the assumption that Aomine-kun comes first, for him as well as for her.

(Perhaps it isn't right that Aomine-kun should be so important to so many people. But it doesn't feel wrong either.)

"Message me when you get there," Kuroko tells her. She stares up at him in surprise. Then her gaze turns speculative, not unexpectedly. Kuroko has not done a good job of mimicking Aomine-kun's behaviour while in Momoi-san's presence.

In the end she nods and leaves the court, getting permission from Harasawa-sensei before she exits the sports centre. Kuroko redirects his attention towards the Touou basketball team. There is a multitude of things he needs to learn before facing Seirin next week – before facing Hyuuga-sempai and Coach Riko and Kagami-kun.

Kuroko is learning Harasawa-sensei's playbook. He studies Wakamatsu's rebounds, memorises the pattern of Sakurai's three-pointers. Observation is the easy part, however. Changing his style of play is a different thing altogether.

This team expects Aomine – or at the moment, Kuroko-as-Aomine – to be the strongest.

It's not the kind of expectation Kuroko's ever been on the receiving end of. It's not something Kuroko's ever expected of anyone either. Kagami is his light, yes, but Kuroko is his shadow, and Seirin is their team. Strength added to strength multiplies: Kuroko believes in Kagami, but equally he believes in himself, and he believes in Seirin. It is in their collective strength that Kuroko's conviction lies.

His hope in Aomine-kun is a little different. Above all, Kuroko hopes for Aomine to be himself. (And Aomine _is_ strength, but Aomine is never less himself as when he is defined by that strength.)

He tries to play as Aomine would play, but it is not enough. Kuroko's reflexes are peerless in in this form, and within this body lies the muscle memory of ten thousand passes, a hundred thousand shots. But Kuroko does not possess the mind that created Aomine's basketball.

If Kuroko had enough time to learn the intricacies of this body-

If he could create his own style once again, this time with the speed and height of the Generation of Miracles-

-of course, in the meantime Aomine-kun would be doing whatever he liked with Kuroko's own body.

At the end of practice Kuroko checks Aomine-kun's phone. There are two emails:

_Don't worry, he's fine_, Momoi has messaged.

From Aomine: _Satsuki said you were coming over. Can you bring me my Horikita Mai magazines?_

#

He stops by Aomine-kun's house and picks up the magazines. Including the saliva-stained one.

#

He walks to his own home and is greeted by his mother, who is surprised but delighted to see 'Aomine-kun' for the first time in years.

Tetsuya is fine, she tells Kuroko, but will be so happy to see you. There's a mild, almost-imperceptible emphasis on the _so_ that makes Kuroko wonder. He's never talked to his parents about his third year at Teikou – no more than they absolutely needed to know, anyhow – and they, with typical discretion, have never asked.

His family knows he has new friends now, whom he plays basketball with. They know that he's talking to his old friends again – sometimes.

Kuroko doesn't mention Aomine to his mother much. Maybe that's the tell-tale sign; maybe he speaks of Aomine too little.

Or perhaps mothers always know. It's a worrying thought.

He thanks his mother for her hospitality, and then goes to knock on the door of his own bedroom. Kagami opens the door. It's a curious experience, being the same height as Kagami. They stare at each other, eye-to-eye, and Kuroko watches the dawning surprise in Kagami's face.

"Kuroko?" Kagami asks hesitantly.

It is Kuroko's turn to be taken back. Apparently Aomine-kun's ability to pretend to be Kuroko – even when _actually_ inhabiting Kuroko's body – is non-existent.

He steps inside and shuts the door behind him. There's Aomine in Kuroko's body, sitting up in Kuroko's bed and looking disgruntled. Momoi sits on a chair besides him, her hands clasped together, but she's facing the doorway and peering up anxiously as Kuroko enters.

Behind Aomine, the bedroom windows are open. The evening sun floods the room, warm and golden upon the carpet, the bed covers, the angles of Momoi's face.

"Aomine-kun, I didn't expect your ability to keep a secret to be so poor," says Kuroko.

"I didn't _give it away_ on purpose," Aomine mutters, looking abashed. Kuroko has never seen himself look abashed before. Is that really how his face appears when chagrined?

"He tried to make a formless shot while bent over backwards," says Kagami. "It was obvious it wasn't the usual you playing. Then he put out his back. _Your_ back."

"It's just a muscle sprain," grumbles Aomine. "I'll be fine in a few days." He slouches against the headboard, eyes half-lidded and lazy; looking entirely like himself, nothing like Kuroko, physical features notwithstanding.

The oddness of this little tableau is not lost on Kuroko. It's not lost on Momoi and Kagami either, who look from Aomine to Kuroko to Aomine again. Kuroko is suddenly aware of his own posture, upright and a little formal, of the way his tie sits too neatly around his collar. The two top buttons of his shirt lie undone, in Aomine-fashion, but his sleeves are rolled up too carefully to the elbow, his shoes laced up too severely.

There are a hundred small details that betray Kuroko's true identity, just as there are a hundred corresponding hints that give away Aomine as he lies on the bed in Kuroko's body, staring up at the ceiling.

Kagami breaks the silence first. "So. What are you going to do about the match next week?"

"I'll play," says Aomine, with an implied _of course_ in his tone. "So'll Tetsu."

"Your back is injured," says Kuroko, letting a hint of reproach slip into his voice.

"You mean _your back_," Aomine corrects. He sits up again and winces, on cue. "The game's Tuesday night, no? I'll be more than recovered by then."

"Mmhmm," says Kuroko. "Have you learned to pass the ball yet?"

"I'll work it out."

"Of course you will."

Aomine doesn't deign to offer another retort, instead bringing his gaze to rest on Momoi, who is watching the exchange with avid fascination. "Satsuki."

She starts a little and says, "Te – Aomine-kun?" The maelstrom of thought and emotion churning in her head is almost palpable as she processes the sight before her: Aomine's smirk on Kuroko's face, Kuroko's frown on Aomine's forehead.

"Teach Tetsu how to play like me for next week's match. You're the one who has all my data."

She nods slowly, and looks up at Kuroko with a familiar and appraising glance. "I can do that."

"Shouldn't you worry about leaning to play like _me_?" Kuroko returns.

"What, aren't you going to teach me?" Aomine shrugs. "I could always ask Akashi."

"You're welcome to call him now and ask, if you like," Kuroko says. "No doubt Akashi-kun would offer a great deal of insight into this situation."

Bluff called, Aomine scowls and then falls silent again.

Kagami clears his throat. "This is the weirdest experience I've ever had in my life."

Coming from Kagami, and given the additions that are made to Kuroko's knowledge of Kagami's childhood every time Alex-san and Himuro-kun visit Tokyo, this _is saying something_.

"I'm sure this is a temporary switch," says Momoi. On the whole Momoi seems to be retaining great presence of mind, although her lovely eyes look a little dazed every time her glance turns to Kuroko, or to Aomine.

"What if it's not?" asks Kagami.

Kuroko turns the question over in his mind, rather troubled. It's a possibility that has occurred to Kuroko, but he has chosen not to dwell on it. After all, it's not as if there are any useful conclusions to be reached.

On the bed, Aomine adjusts his pillows, pretending not to pay attention, even though the furrow of concentration on his brow gives him away.

What if it's not?

#

Kagami leaves first, and then Momoi shortly after, although not before she works out with Kuroko a painstakingly designed schedule for teaching him Aomine's play style in the space of five days. (Some parts of the curriculum have been streamlined for obvious reasons. Crossover dribbles, mandatory yes; making three-pointers with the back of one's knuckles, not so necessary.)

Kuroko is left staring at a timetable drawn on lined notebook paper that barely allows time for eating, sleeping, and attending class. Doing homework will entirely be out of the question. (It's fortunate for Kuroko that Aomine-kun never does his homework. It's a little less fortunate that Aomine-kun is no doubt _not_ doing Kuroko's homework at Seirin.)

"She's as thorough as always," says Aomine, sounding pleased. Aomine is much better about praising Momoi behind her back than to her face. "Did you bring my magazines?"

Kuroko lets out a sigh, then pulls the requested items out of his school satchel. Aomine's collection has grown considerably more voluminous since their Teikou days; Kuroko's selection of which magazines to bring Aomine today was essentially cursory and based on ease of access.

"You didn't bring the Tejima Yuu double issue from March," complains Aomine, spreading out his bounty on the mattress.

Kuroko sits down in the chair that Momoi previously occupied. "I'm sure you have enough pictures to keep you going for a few days, Aomine-kun."

Aomine flips through a copy of _Shukan Jitsuwa_. A photograph falls out from between its pages as he turns them over.

It's an official basketball club picture from Teikou days, taken by one of the club managers at one of their tournaments. Aomine is in the foreground, grinning down at Kuroko, who stands in the corner of the photograph, smiling back, a low-key presence as always.

There aren't many official photographs from Teikou that even feature Kuroko at all. The manager in charge of publicity had a very clear hierarchy of favourites when it came to her picture-taking. Nijimura and Aomine nearly always featured; Kuroko's inclusion was incidental at best.

Aomine picks up the photographic print from where it's fallen on the sheets and slides it back into place, then tosses the magazine onto the bedside table, before throwing Kuroko a speculative look. "So."

It's the kind of _So_ that invariably precedes Aomine doing or saying something incredibly, incredibly stupid. "...What is it?" Kuroko asks, not bothering to hide the resignation in his voice.

"Have you ever wondered what it's like to have sex with yourself?"

"...No," says Kuroko. "Have you ever wondered what it'd be like to be punched by yourself in the nose?"

"Then you'd have two injuries once we switch back," Aomine points out. He flips another magazine open, then stops short. It's the one Kuroko drooled on the night before last. "Oi, what did you _do_ to this?"

"Nothing. My head was lying on the centrefold when I woke up. I assume that was the position you were in when our...switch...occurred."

Aomine continues to stare at Horikita Mai's marred legs with palpable dismay. "Urgh, Tetsu, you owe me for this."

"I'll post you an IOU."

"Or we could-"

Despite knowing and accepting that Aomine-kun has a two-track mind at best, Kuroko does have limits. "Aomine-kun."

"I'm not exactly joking," says Aomine softly, watching Kuroko.

"...I know."

The bedroom is quiet for a minute, the furniture casting still shadows on the floor. Outside, dusk is falling. Kuroko listens to the distant sounds of his grandmother pottering around the kitchen, preparing dinner.

Aomine doesn't move and doesn't speak and for a moment he's almost as still, as invisible, as Kuroko usually is.

Kuroko is the one to break the stalemate. He stands up.

He moves towards Aomine.

#

For as long as he's known Aomine the pattern has been the same now: one step forward, two steps back. Friends, partners, whatever unnamed thing binds the two of them together now – it sometimes seems to Kuroko that his history of Aomine is a long litany of mistakes one after another, each of them enacted and then corrected, only to be succeeded by the next false step.

Kuroko is long past the point where he fears making mistakes.

#

Aomine is indeed injured, a fact that is driven home the moment they attempt to maneuver themselves into any sort of workable position. Kuroko is not used to being the taller one.

Neither of them have had much practice at this, not even at the tamer and more innocent forms of physicality beyond which they have not experimented. Aomine is always oddly restrained, despite his surface eagerness; Kuroko, on the other hand, is always afraid.

It was easy enough getting caught up in Aomine-kun's world when it was just basketball, only basketball; now that there is more – a vague and ill-defined but undeniable _more_, is he likely to ever extricate himself?

Kuroko touches the hair that is his own hair and feels the lips that are his own lips and takes hold of Aomine's fingers with his fingers.

When it comes to Aomine-kun, Kuroko is capable of every mistake except the mistake of giving up. He thinks the thought and knows that it is true.

#

"I'm _not_sexually attracted to my own body," says Aomine, a few minutes later. His tone of voice suggests that this was in fact a genuine epiphany.

This time, it takes considerable forbearance for Kuroko to not punch him.

#

He walks back to Aomine's home and falls asleep in Aomine's bed that night, none the wiser about anything at all. This time, he dreams.

He finds himself staring politely at the angel levitating in the middle of his dream. The angel bears the semblance of Midorima Shintarou in a white robe, wings, and a halo.

White is not Midorima's color. It's better than orange, though.

"Midorima-kun," Kuroko begins.

"I am not Midorima Shintarou," the angel informs him. "I'm the personification of fate."

"I've never dreamt about you before," says Kuroko. This is entirely true. Kuroko's dreams about the Generation of Miracles - mostly nightmares - tend to feature Aomine and Akashi. Sometimes Kise and Murasakibara, depending on how much excess sweetened dairy product Kuroko has consumed on a given night.

"This is not a dream," says Angel Midorima primly. "This is the will of fate. You proposed and I am prepared to dispose."

Kuroko can't remember proposing anything to anyone, least of all Midorima. "Proposed what, exactly?"

Impatiently, Angel Midorima adjusts his glasses with a bandaged hand. "I shan't waste my time with redundant statements. Search your own memory for yourself."

He ransacks his memory but dream-logic interrupts and turns everything fuzzy. Images come into blurry focus: warm blood trickling across his upper lip, the press of Akashi's index finger against his sternum, rain falling on Aomine's face. He sees basketballs, too many, the ones that struck him unawares and left injury, the shots he made and didn't make, the air balls, the passes.

The passes he sent out. The passes Aomine caught. The passes that Aomine did not receive.

The basketball that Aomine plays, practised and instinctive, ever-changing, since the day they met. Changing even now, moving beyond Kuroko's limits: far and farther.

His thoughts flow around him like quicksilver. "It's not that I ever wanted to be like Aomine-kun, or have his talent," he says.

Angel Midorima looks bored and flaps his wings. They're large and very unwieldy wings. "Then what did you want?"

"-I wanted him to play basketball with a smile," says Kuroko, seizing upon a familiar and sincere phrase.

Angel Midorima snorts. "Is that truly all?" There's a hazy golden glow serving as a backdrop to Midorima's long bleach-white feathers. Gold is also not Midorima's colour.

"I wanted-" _Still want._ "-to understand him." It's a hard conclusion, formed after years of introspection, but Kuroko does not understand Aomine. The old accusation that Aomine levelled at him years ago is perfectly true, guilty as charged.

Kuroko is not the strongest.

He will never be anything like the strongest.

He's seen the unfolding of Aomine's isolation, lived its aftereffects, told Aomine's story to Kagami and Seirin until it finally makes sense to himself. Kuroko has always believed in Aomine. In some ways, he finds it _impossible_ not to believe in Aomine.

But, he doesn't understand.

After all, he thinks not a little bitterly, it's not as if Aomine's ever made any effort to understand him.

#

The dream dissipates into the silence of deep sleep, and when Kuroko opens his eyes at dawn, he can't remember how it ended. (Maybe it didn't truly end, just faded into something else, as dreams do.)

Before breakfast he goes for a morning jog with Kagami. It is not something that they do often, but it is something that Kuroko wants to try while he is in Aomine's body, in these wonderful legs that run and run and never grow weary.

He might never get a chance to experience this again. They jog uphill and make conversation and for once it's Kagami who's breathing hard, Kagami who requests that they slow down after half an hour, while Kuroko still feels like he could keep moving forever.

(Yes, it's always been difficult understanding Aomine.)

They settle into a more leisurely pace – that is, a pace at which in Kuroko's original body he would have been rendered incapable of anything but running and gasping – and discuss the situation.

"Does anyone at Seirin know besides you?" asks Kuroko.

"Well Coach is gonna find out pretty soon if Aomine doesn't pull his act together." Kagami scowls. "He skips class and he's not invisible at all and he keeps trying to steal Koganei-sempai's porn stash. He's terrible at being you."

"As expected of Aomine-kun," says Kuroko, as they pause at a set of traffic lights.

"What are you going to do if you're stuck like this forever?" The lights change colour and they cross the intersection, gradually picking up speed.

"It won't be forever."

"How do you know that?"

_Because life never intended me to be Aomine Daiki_, Kuroko thinks. Aloud he says, "I just have a feeling."

They jog their way past several blocks of houses. After a while Kagami speaks: "So I'll play you on Tuesday then. Unless you switch back."

"...Yes." He looks across at his partner and Kagami is grinning and Kuroko finds himself smiling back.

"This'll be interesting," Kagami says, his eyes alight.

"It will be," says Kuroko, and realises he _really really_ doesn't want to switch back.

Not yet.

#

Not even when Momoi hands him three notebooks plus a USB stick, all filled to the brim with Aomine's statistics.

"How long have you been collecting Aomine-kun's data?" asks Kuroko, as he reads through graphs and tables and meticulously recorded percentages. The question is partially rhetorical, partially not; he is somewhat taken aback by the sheer _quantity_ of information collected here.

"Forever," says Momoi. She tosses Kuroko a basketball. "We don't have a lot of time. Let's work hard."

Mostly it's a lot of shooting and dribbling practice – shots attempted from every possible position, getting used to the sheer speed and facility with ball-handling that this body is capable of. Having a practice partner would have been ideal, but Kuroko is loathe to let more people in on the secret.

"You're thinking too hard, Tetsu-kun," Momoi calls out from the sidelines, as he leaps for another three-pointer. It goes in, but not before bouncing off the backboard.

"I know, I can't help it!" he calls back.

Frustrated, he stops for water. Momoi offers him a container of shockingly normal-looking and tasting sliced pears.

"In some ways it's simple," she says, as Kuroko bites into the soft flesh of the fruit and feels sweetness roll down his throat. "Dai-chan doesn't do assists, he doesn't screen, he doesn't pass the ball. He steals, he drives, he scores. Sometimes he rebounds, sometimes he plays defense. There's a lot of things we don't need to practice this week."

"Most of the skills that I perform well are ones that Aomine-kun does not usually use." It makes sense. Light and shadow are opposites. He is weak where Aomine is strong, and vice versa.

Kuroko sips water and takes another slice of pear. He says softly, "He's fast. Much much faster than he was at Teikou."

"You don't have to be Dai-chan," Momoi tells him. "You just have to be Touou Gakuen's ace."

This would be a reassuring thought if Kuroko knew how to be anyone's ace.

#

_Your mum found the magazines,_Aomine emails on Thursday night.

Kuroko is walking home from school in the dark when he gets the message and when he does, he stares at the phone screen, then flips his (Aomine's) mobile shut and places it back in his pocket without replying.

A minute later a follow-up email arrives: _She was surprised but very understanding. She said it was a normal part of growing up._

Again, Kuroko puts his phone away and ignores it. He walks a little faster. He's barely travelled the length of a street when Aomine tries again.

_Tetsu. Say something._

Against his better judgement, he finds himself messaging back while traversing a zebra crossing on an empty road. Against his better judgement: sometimes he feels that's the entire story of him and Aomine in one exact phrase.

Kuroko sends: _Nothing. I have nothing to say._

He sticks his mobile in his school satchel and successfully ignores it until he gets back to Aomine's home whereupon he goes upstairs and flops back on the bed. Between usual basketball practice and extra sessions with Momoi, he is utterly exhausted. Also, Aomine's body seems to require excess sleep just as Kagami-kun requires excess food.

Still in his satchel, his cellphone sends out the periodic beeps that announce that he has unread emails. Eventually he gives in and clambers out of bed to checks his Inbox.

_Just got back from practice. I'm getting used to how pathetically weak your body is._

Still clutching his flip phone, Kuroko gets back into bed. It is clear that Aomine does not wish to be ignored tonight. _Didn't you say once that you wish you'd been born like me?_

Aomine doesn't bother responding to that. For a minute there is blessed silence. Then, a change of topic: _My back's not hurting anymore. Gonna need tutorials from you on the weekend. You okay with teaching me?_

Typical Aomine, only acknowledging the things that he wishes to acknowledge.

_It won't be much of a match if I don't, will it?_ answers Kuroko.

The next email is brief: _Thank you._

Kuroko stares at the words and against his better judgement, he's a little warmer inside.

#

The air is warm and muggy when they meet on Saturday afternoon, the sky swirling with grey cloud. Aomine is already waiting when Kuroko arrives, standing on the three-point line, slowly dribbling a ball.

Kuroko comes to a halt and watches from a distance as Aomine makes one shot, then another, then another, all successfully. Aomine-as-Kuroko still has a much higher shooting percentage than Kuroko as himself.

After a little while Kuroko walks out onto the court. Aomine hears his approaching footsteps, then smiles, turns around – then sends the ball hurtling towards Kuroko, astonishingly fast.

Barely in time, out of pure reflex, Kuroko catches the pass, feeling the shock of impact against his palms.

"See you've never had to catch your _own_ passes." Aomine's grin is delighted. "I bet you could KO yourself with an Ignite Pass Kai. If you were in your own body passing to yourself in your own body, I mean."

"Probably true." Kuroko spins the ball on the back of his hand. "You've picked up some of my usual techniques."

"But not how to use misdirection."

"Well." Kuroko tilts his head to the side. "For starters, you haven't got the head for it."

"Oi." Aomine scowls at him. "Stick to the _useful_ tips."

"Misdirection requires that you be aware of all the players on the court, at all times. If you can't manage to do that, all you'll succeed in producing is a partial and imperfect copy. Secondly, your presence is too strong."

"Do you actually _have_ useful tips?" demands Aomine.

"If you'd stop interrupting, you'd see that I was getting to that." Even though Aomine's presence is, indeed, Aomine's presence. Being physically weak, being twenty-five centimetres shorter, being softer-voiced – all these things barely seem to dim the intensity of Aomine's person.

Or maybe Kuroko is just an utterly biased observer, unable to stop noticing Aomine regardless of the situation.

Aomine is still waiting quietly, looking up at Kuroko with an expectant gaze. Kuroko takes a quiet breath and then elaborates: "This was what Akashi-kun taught me once. You can control your level of presence by controlling the degree to which you express your emotions."

"Sounds like the sort of crap Akashi likes to spew."

"Well, that's true." Kuroko tosses the basketball back to Aomine, who catches and then lets the ball hover still on the tips of his fingers, suspended like a water strider skimming the surface of a pond. "Nevertheless, it is effective advice."

"Mmhmm." Aomine's eyes meet Kuroko's, dark and unreadable. "Okay, I've got it."

"You've got it," Kuroko echoes. He gazes down at Aomine, who's stopped balancing the basketball in favour of tucking it underneath his arm. Apart from that, though, not much seems to have changed. Aomine's stance seems less loose-limbed and cocksure maybe, the hints of childishness gone, but even then he is _there_, and he consumes Kuroko's field of attention like nothing and no one ever could.

"Kinda."

"Your level of presence hasn't appeared to have altered at all." Of course, they're standing alone at the centre circle, no possible distractions in sight, and Kuroko will be the first to acknowledge the confounding factors of observer bias.

The fact that Aomine-kun is _here_, in front of him, in a way that he once thought impossible. Wrong body, wrong voice, wrong face: it is still Aomine.

"-not to you," Aomine says. "It was never going to work on you."

"...Why not?" asks Kuroko.

"How well does misdirection work on _me_?" asks Aomine.

It's a rhetorical question but Kuroko answers anyway. "Not well." _Because you see me_, he thinks, although that has not always been the case. But these days it is true. These days, Aomine sees him.

Aomine throws the ball back and Kuroko catches it.

#

They go looking for opponents, naturally. There is no way to tell how effective their learning has been until they play for real.

It's been a long while since Kuroko played street basketball. It's never been a game at which he excels; mostly, he has played it under conditions where player talent was irrelevant. The few times he's played competitive streetball, he's always benefited from having partners and teammates considerably stronger than he is.

They eventually find a group of suitable players – a trio of college students, all taller than Aomine (that is, Kuroko), all shorter than Kuroko (that is, Aomine). Not national-level, but good. The real Aomine could best them in a one-on-three, but not without working for it.

The challenge is issued: first to twelve baskets. They take their positions, the game begins and then –

– And then he has the ball.

Aomine passes to him almost immediately, and Kuroko is going for a layup without even thinking about it – up and past the ineffectual block of the closest opponent, straight to the hoop.

Bounce pass. He drives past two players, to the basket, dunks, elated by the sheer height and ease of it.

The third shot, Aomine makes. Not a Phantom Shot, but a three-pointer, thrown with the perfect accuracy and unpredictability that Aomine always has, even in Kuroko's body.

It's easy and natural, and brings on the memory of a hundred games like this – their positions reversed, but their partnership exactly the same. Knowing where Aomine is, and the ball that travels between them – the sureness, the flowing rhythm of their movements.

They finish with twelve baskets to three. Aomine is visibly winded by the end of it, taking heavy gasps of air in a way that is utterly familiar and everyday to Kuroko. But he's grinning wide at the end of it, looking nothing like Kuroko.

"Not bad," he says, as they make their way to the train station to go home. He's still fiddling with the basketball in his hands. "We should do that again." He looks up at Kuroko's face. "What's up?"

"Nothing," says Kuroko. "It's just that I feel happy."

Aomine blinks, and then he doesn't reply, just falls silent while walking alongside Kuroko, both of them watching the asphalt of the road before them.

"It's been a long time since we last played this," Kuroko says quietly.

Aomine nods.

Kuroko continues. "It might be a long time until we next play like this again. There might come a day when we're no longer light and shadow, not even sometimes."

Aomine shrugs. "But we'll still be you and me."

He flicks his basketball to Kuroko and this time, Kuroko flicks it back.

#

Touou and Seirin have in the last two years built up a tradition of pre-match fraternising between teams. Kuroko's pretty sure their respective captains would be punishing them severely for holding actual interteam pre-match strategic discussions though.

Even if the discussion at present mainly consists of Kagami saying things like: "Tell him not to permanently injure your back, he's still making weird shots doing practice."

And Momoi saying: "Dai-chan, I've already tried to estimate the time length of your effectiveness, but your misdirection isn't going to last as long as Tetsu-kun's, so keep that in mind okay?"

The chatter goes on for about five minutes until Aomine covers his ears with his hands: "Everyone shut up. That means you, Satsuki, and you, Kagami."

The two offending parties fall silent and glare at him. Kuroko stays silent, still watching the rest of them.

"Forget thinking about it. Just play, okay? Kagami, you should be good at that at least."

Kagami's still glaring but he nods. "Yeah, you're right," he says, reaching out to give Aomine a friendly jab on the shoulder.

It's kind of hilarious watching Aomine blanch completely white as he takes the brunt of Kagami's fist. Wait, that's probably how _Kuroko_ looks all the time when Kagami punches him. Ah well.

After Aomine recovers he looks across at Kuroko. "It's going to be my first time playing against Touou's basketball," he says, giving Kuroko a sharp smile. "Try not to bore me."

_Touou's_ basketball. "We absolutely won't," says Kuroko, as Momoi nods in agreement.

"Good," says Aomine.

#

And in the end it's Touou that wins – not Kuroko, not Aomine Daiki's body. Momoi's data, and Sakurai's three-pointers and Wakamatsu's rebounds. Touou has always been a strong team, and this game is no different.

Seirin are not at their strongest. Aomine is surprisingly good at being invisible – judging by the reactions of the rest of the Touou team – but he doesn't have Kuroko's sense for the flow of the game, the movements of the players.

Not that Kuroko fares much better. He's prepared himself for being the mainstay of Touou's offense, for playing at the forefront of a game rather than as a background force, but even so he faces Kagami at a distinct disadvantage. He can almost imagine the shocked articles in Basketball Monthly commenting on the contrast between Kagami Taiga and Aomine Daiki at this year's Tokyo tournament.

But the battle between aces is far from being the battle itself. Kuroko proved that to himself, to his former team mates, so many times last year.

The scoreboards change quickly, as they do whenever Seirin faces Touou. Aomine is subbed out in the second quarter, and returns in the fourth, when Touou's lead is a bare six points.

The final deciding event is quick – a screen, an attempted three pointer from Hyuuga – and Kuroko jumps, agile as he's never been agile, and the shot is blocked.

The cheer rises up for the winners from the sidelines and Wakamatsu is pumping his fist into the air and yelling and Kuroko glances over at Aomine, who's standing there with the look of loss in his face. His face appears as it did when Seirin defeated Touou last year – young and open, the kind of face Kuroko once thought he'd never see from Aomine again.

"Your win this time," Aomine says – and then he offers out his fist, outstretched. Kuroko's breath catches.

"Thank you," he says, and holds out his hand.

Knuckle meets knuckle. All at once he's looking up at Aomine and Aomine is looking down at him and they are themselves again.

He feels his own heart thrum with exhaustion and exertion and the familiarity of the fistbump and he feels his own lips smile.

_I wanted to understand him._, Kuroko remembers, recalling the flap of angel's wings.

There is an eternity of things Kuroko still doesn't understand about Aomine.

But – just a little. He knows Aomine just a little better.

And there is world enough and time for them to continue learning.

#

The next evening, he visits Aomine's house. For the first time in years he greets Aomine's mother (as himself, that is; Kuroko does not include the seven days he spent pretending to be her son).

Daiki is upstairs, she says. He'll be so glad to see you.

Aomine is lolling on the bed when Kuroko arrives, spread-eagled out like a limp and empty sack. He barely cracks an eye open as Kuroko walks in. "Hey. How's it going?"

"I came to return your gravure collection," says Kuroko, sitting down on the edge of the bed. That earns him an actual human response from Aomine, who sits up with visible anticipation, then takes the proffered pile of magazines from Kuroko with alacrity.

After a thorough round of flipping and browsing he frowns at Kuroko. "Didn't you return the photo?"

"Was it important?" asks Kuroko. "I thought I'd borrow it."

"Yes. No. Yes," Aomine scowls. "Give it back."

"Come get it the next time you visit," Kuroko offers, touching Aomine's arm.

"...Tomorrow?" Aomine asks.

"If that's what you want."

"It's what I want," Aomine says, his eyes watching Kuroko steadily. He's not moving away from Kuroko's touch. "I can make you a copy of the picture."

Kuroko says: "I'd like that."

**_End, Penumbra._**


End file.
